Confide In Me
by HorkBajir99
Summary: Frisk doesn't deal with their mental health in the most healthy way. Little things have a way of piling up, until Frisk has an episode in the presence of the one monster who can relate. (Trigger warnings: self-harm, anxiety, brief mention of suicidal thoughts.)


This was an awkward reason to be late for movie night.

Frisk winced involuntarily as they gave their thigh a final once-over with the tissue. The cuts were a few days old by now, but during their shower it slipped their mind and they scrubbed a little too hard. As a result, some scabs had broken, and now Frisk was giving themself a full inspection to make sure they hadn't missed any new blood.

The cuts hadn't been made to cope with anything in particular. That was a common misconception, in Frisk's opinion. People seemed to think that new cuts meant something "bad" had happened. But that wasn't always the case. Sometimes it was just a matter of withdrawal, like a smoker might get after too long without a cigarette. Add that to anything even remotely unpleasant and you had a recipe for relapse.

After one last examination, Frisk threw the bloody tissue into the toilet and flushed it. They carefully stepped into their sweatpants and wrung out their wet hair, satisfied that the situation was under control.

"Hey kid," Sans' voice called from downstairs. "Movie's starting."

Oh, crap. As much as they wanted to rush, Frisk was slow and deliberate while pulling on their striped sweater. The majority of their most recent cuts were on their arms, and they had no desire to reopen the wounds yet again. Heaven knew what the brothers would say if they noticed anything.

Out of habit, Frisk paused one more time in front of the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

* * *

The first thing they saw as they came down the stairs was Papyrus rushing for the front door.

"You're leaving?"

Papyrus skidded to a halt in a cartoonish way, looking appropriately sheepish as they met the human's eyes. "I'm so sorry, human. Undyne called. It seems she needs me for something important all of a sudden!"

"It's cool, bro," mumbled Sans. Frisk noticed he'd already sunk so far into the couch cushions that he was in danger of being swallowed. "Me and the kid'll hold down the fort."

"Well…"

There was a definite guilt in Papyrus' eyes (eyesockets, to be more accurate) and he didn't immediately move to leave the house. It seemed he was waiting for Frisk's approval. Rationally speaking, there was no reason for him NOT to go meet Undyne, but the human felt a painful pang in their chest anyway.

Out loud, they said, "Go ahead, Paps."

"If you're sure, then I must get going!" Papyrus beamed, yanking his scarf tight around his neck as he wrenched open the door. A gust of cold wind filled the house for a moment. "Undyne said it was of the utmost urgency, and I refuse to ignore the needs of a friend!"

Then, as an afterthought, "Especially a heavily-armed friend."

With that, the door slammed shut, and outside the window a red blur darted in the direction of the ferry.

"Sorry about that, kiddo," Sans said, pulling himself up from the couch to make room for Frisk. "Guess it's just us tonight."

"Yeah." Frisk padded quickly down the stairs and fell back against the cushions. "What does Undyne want, anyway?"

The skeleton shrugged. "Dunno. All I heard were the words 'lizard' and 'gay'."

Frisk couldn't help but smirk at that.

The rest of the night went by in a comfortable silence. The movie was old, full of cheesy special effects and predictable plot twists, and so the two only spoke to point out production issues or cheesy lines. That was something Frisk appreciated about spending time with Sans; it was nice to be with someone they could be silent with and not feel awkward.

It was difficult to ignore the occasional pangs of discomfort they were still feeling, though. They knew Papyrus didn't mean any harm; he was just going to help a friend, and they couldn't fault him for that. Even so, it sucked that he'd bailed on such short notice. Maybe if he'd known sooner, Frisk would've been able to get over his absence faster. Whatever the reason, the familiar queasy feeling didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

They supposed it was similar to the feeling they got before they relapsed. When a person is already on the edge, it gets much easier to make them feel even worse.

"Hey kid."

"Mm?"

"You okay?"

Another pang. "Yeah. Why?"

Sans looked the human up and down for a minute, then turned his attention back to the TV. "No reason."

There was silence again for a minute, although it was slightly tense.

"You're upset that Paps had to bail."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Shit, that skeleton was perceptive. Frisk found themself curling up into a tighter ball than before.

Sans turned to look at them again. "You are, aren't you?"

"...a little. I get it, though. It's fine."

Sans nodded a little, understanding, but didn't look away.

Sensing he wanted a more thorough answer, Frisk continued. "I mean, it's your house, it's your life, you do whatever you want."

"Yeah."

They knew Sans wasn't trying to be nosy, not on purpose, but they felt their anxiety flare anyway. Which was stupid. It wasn't like he was interrogating them.

They trained their eyes on the TV again, but they could still feel Sans' gaze boring into them. Like many of his expressions, this one was hard to pinpoint.

"I've got a feeling, kid. Nothing to back this up, really. Just a feeling."

Impulsively, Frisk bit down hard on the inside of their lip.

"I dunno if it's different for humans, but sometimes monsters' minds can get away from them," the skeleton continued. "Things that seem little to one monster seem like the end of the world for another. Little things, offhand comments and stuff like that. And sometimes those little things add up and turn into big things."

Shit shit shit shit did he know did he see something why was he talking like this-

"I dunno," Sans shrugged, shrugging and slumping back against the pillows. "But I get the feeling a bunch of little things are piling up on you. So, y'know, if you want help getting rid of some of those little things, I'm here, okay kid?"

Again, silence. But not a comfortable silence anymore.

Suddenly Frisk wanted to throw up. Sans was right. And by being right, he'd unknowingly added another little thing to the pile.

There were multiple ways to deal with this kind of discomfort. The one Frisk had used a lot, mostly when they were younger, was to hide their face and tune everything out until it all blew over. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes people would try to dig them out of their little cocoon and make things worse. Right now Frisk felt it was worth the gamble.

They drew their legs to their chest and wrapped their arms tight around them, falling sideways onto the middle of the couch as they tucked in their head. Once they were sure that their face was hidden from view, they let it scrunch up in the hopes that it would alleviate some of their discomfort.

For several minutes, they didn't move. They were vaguely aware that their surroundings were changing-the sounds of the movie had stopped, and Sans had said something more than once. In response, their brain instinctively fogged over, even more so when they felt a bony hand touch their shoulder.

They waited. Waited for their stomach to calm, waited for their body to relax again. It took a few minutes, but eventually they were able to unscrunch their face and peek up over their knees a bit. The movie was paused, and Sans was there, although not in their line of sight.

"Hey...kid?"

Sans was speaking very quietly and deliberately, in a tone that was hard to catch. Frisk hummed in response.

"What do you need?"

They didn't answer at first, not because they didn't know what to say, but because a few minutes of being balled up makes it hard to speak on command. Finally they mumbled, "Just give me a minute."

"Okay."

Silence again. The uncomfortable pangs of anxiety(?) were gone now, and Frisk felt oddly numb without them. It was like they were a computer in the middle of a hard reboot; things were going to be a little slow for a while. Over the next minute, they worked consciously to loosen their grip on their legs, to let their body relax again.

"M'kay," they said after a while.

"Do you want some water?"

"...mm-hm."

"Okay. Be right back."

They were vaguely aware of Sans' presence leaving the room and disappearing into the kitchen. The couch now open, they slowly released their grip on their knees and stretched their legs out, uncurling like a worm until they were lying on their side. They took a careful, deep (although slightly shaky) breath.

Sans reentered the living room, holding a full cup of water. Frisk noted that it had a straw in it and thanked heaven that the skeleton thought of that. He was patient as Frisk let their legs drop off the couch and rose to a sitting position, then handed them the glass and sat beside them.

After a few long sips of water, Frisk decided they were probably able to handle looking someone in the face again. A little apprehensive, they turned to look at their friend and gage his reaction.

Sans didn't look scared, thank goodness. Nor did he look like he pitied them-those were expressions Frisk hated to see after an episode like this. Instead he looked understanding, although still concerned, which Frisk couldn't fault him for.

They managed to mumble another word. "Sorry."

Sans' eyesockets widened a bit (somehow) and he shook his head. "No, no, no, kid, it's okay. Don't apologize. Are you good?"

Frisk nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

They shrugged. "Dunno."

"Okay."

Frisk wasn't usually one to talk about their problems with people. However, on rare occasions, a combination of late nights and mild dissociation made it much easier to open their mouth. They were hovering around that ideal combination right now.

So, after a pause, they mumbled, "It's like you said. Lots of stuff piling up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was already having a rough week, and then Papyrus left without telling us sooner, and...you kinda caught on, and it was a sort of...one-two punch. I think."

Sans' expression furrowed in concern. "You were already not feeling the best?"

"I guess."

"You know you can talk to us, right?"

Frisk lowered their gaze, feeling a bit sheepish. "I'm...not good at talking about my problems. Don't wanna make them other people's problems. That's stupid."

"Whoa, kid, it's not stupid-"

"Yeah, I know. I know. Rationally. But it feels like it."

Sans paused, then sighed in apparent resignation. "Yeah, that's fair. I know what you mean."

Frisk took one last sip of their water. Sans rose from beside them, taking the glass and setting it on the coffee table.

"...thanks."

The skeleton waved a hand dismissively. "Don't sweat it, kid. I've been there. I get it."

That shouldn't have been that surprising, and yet it was. "You...have?"

Sans' permanent grin widened just slightly. "Frisk, since when have I been a shining example of mental health?"

Yeah, that was fair.

He took a seat beside them once again, and they instinctively leaned against him, their head resting against his shoulder. Thankfully, the silence was no longer uncomfortable. It had gone back to being calm and familiar.

"So…"

"Mm?"

"The past few days...you said those were bad. Anything like this happen?"

"Not like that. Relapsed a little, but that's it."

Wait-shit, this was why sharing things with people was dangerous. It made it so easy to slip up and say too much.

Frisk could feel Sans' body tense just a little, and he turned to look down at them again, concern written all over his face. If these were normal circumstances, maybe they could weave a believable excuse, but their filters were still compromised from their little episode, so there wasn't much they could do.

"...relapse, huh?" Sans' grin now looked much more like a grimace. "With what?"

Several pangs of anxiety went through Frisk's stomach, and they found themself pulling away from the skeleton just a bit. Thankfully, he seemed to pick up on this, and his expression softened.

"Sorry, kid," he said, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

"...thanks."

But they wanted to. It was stupid, but they'd already shared so much with him, and their normal filters were down anyway, so why not? They'd probably regret all of this in the morning, but hey-that was a problem for morning Frisk.

Besides, it felt...good to confide in Sans. He radiated a feeling of safety, like as long as Frisk stayed with him they'd never be in harm's way. There hadn't been anyone like that on the surface, not for years. It usually took a doctorate and several signed forms from psychologists for them to be taken seriously.

Frisk's mouth moved before their brain caught up.

"I...cut myself. Just scratches though."

Sans immediately tensed again, and Frisk quickly brought their gaze down to their knees. It was too late, though-they'd looked long enough to see his eyesockets go dark. Never a good sign.

Sometimes they wished they could teleport like him. If they could, they'd be out of this situation in an instant.

Neither of them moved right away. Sans remained tensed, and Frisk made sure not to let their eyes stray from their lap. The image of Papyrus walking in on this conversation popped into their head, bringing a pang with it.

"...when?"

"...couple days ago."

"Do you want me to heal them?"

He was...asking? "Um...no, but...thanks."

There was a pause. Finally, Sans' whole body slumped, and he let out a deep sigh.

"Welp," he said, rising from the couch. "At least let me make sure you took care of them properly."

What?

"Can you walk okay?" he asked, extending a hand towards them. "We should go patch you up."

Frisk finally dared to look up at him again. They were afraid of seeing horror, maybe disgust-both emotions they'd seen before when people found out how they coped. But instead, they were met with a tired but understanding look-maybe a little sad, but not afraid at all.

They let out a breath they hadn't known they'd been holding.

"Okay," they murmured, taking his hand. "That's okay with me."

* * *

When Papyrus came home later than night, he found Sans and the human fast asleep on the couch. Sans had an arm wrapped protectively around Frisk, who was wearing his hoodie and smiling a bit in their sleep.

Papyrus had no way of knowing what had led up to that moment. He had no way of knowing how Frisk had bit their lip and bared their arms, expected fear and anger, but met with a patient look and skeletal hands holding a first-aid kit. He hadn't seen when Sans had talked casually while dabbing the human's wounds with disinfectant, throwing in a bad pun about something-or-other and smiling when Frisk laughed. He had no way of knowing that the human was wearing Sans' hoodie because Sans had put their blood-speckled sweater in the laundry.

What he did know, however, was that he hadn't seen his brother happy in a long time. He'd been scared for a while, afraid that he'd come home from patrol one day and find Sans gone and an apology letter in his place. He'd done all he could to help, but at the end of the day he had to acknowledge that he had no clue what Sans was really going through. He could only help so much when he couldn't understand what his brother was feeling.

Smiling, he carefully pulled a blanket over the two and silently went upstairs to his room. He had the nagging feeling that this was exactly what both of them had needed.


End file.
